Mata Hari
by PlaidButterfly
Summary: Harlot, yes, but traitor, never." Alternate Universe story exploring the impact on the world and characters if Snape were not male but female.
1. Chapter 1

"**Harlot, yes, but traitor, never."**

With each choice, conscious or unconscious, comes consequence – some say that at each turning point the world fragments, splitting smoothly into another possibility. The other option for a certain outcome did not make a large change in the world – Hogwarts still stood, Diagon Alley still bustled with activity every day. There was still a half-blood Prince, although the pun never worked quite as well – instead, there was rather a half-blood Princess, but fate did not pay her much heed at all.

The world continued smoothly, in fact, until October first.

--

Her outfit was not directly risqué, but still left amazingly little to the imagination for the long sleeves and covered neck. It was as if she knew that nobody wanted to look at her face, because she really wasn't beautiful, when it came down to it – the makeup helped, a little at least, but she knew where her advantages were. Her slightly greasy hair hung around her face like a thick curtain, straight bangs cutting across somewhat into her eyes – it was black, like her dress. In fact, she was amusingly monotone, if you didn't count the red lipstick, the pearls she was wearing roughly the same pale color as her skin. Despite the corset working to mould her body just-so and all the lace, it was very clear that she was not here to waste time – her feminine wiles were carefully planned with purpose.

Albus Dumbledore knew it was probably all reflex, but all in all, he simply had to think that the effect was rather lost on him: seeing a former student, especially one who was dragged into his office so often for waging her miniature personal war on a certain group of Gryffindors, even in such regalia meant that she was still a student. And besides, that _nose_.

The corners of her mouth twitched a moment into a deeper sort of frown; he paused to flip through the pile of papers on his desk. He had recognized the handwriting instantly, and it was hard not to find them what she had asserted they were. There was just the problem of motive, and why exactly she was here. He lingered on a page that had a neatly labeled diagram of Godric's Hollow, arrows pointing to possible locations of the Potters' house, before speaking. "I never would have fancied you for a Mata Hari, Severine."

"You flatter me, Headmaster." Her response was quick, tone dry and lightly sarcastic. "How I obtained these is of no consequence. I'm sure you and the Order would find them quite useful." She sounded rather pleased with herself; he watched a moment, expecting her to instinctively flinch and go to place a hand over where he knew she was branded with the Dark Mark. Instead she kept sitting overly straight in the chair, hands folded in her lap, expression neutral.

He flipped through another page – it was indeed a wealth of information. The diary's protective charms had obviously already been broken, the book singed a little at the edges; she had taken great care that it was safe to read. He gave a resigned sigh. "Very well. Name your price."

"Free." She smiled, being ever-so-careful to not show her teeth, coming unnervingly close to looking like the Mona Lisa.

He looked up at her, over the top of his glasses, obviously pausing a moment to try and interpret what she had said. It was always aggravating dealing with her, in a way – legilimancy was no help, right when he could have used it the most. He was having to get used to the idea quickly that she might be that good of an occulmens.

The smile remained on her face a moment more. "You do know what they say, Headmaster," Her voice was coy, even friendly. "Hell has no fury like a woman scorned."

He considered this.

It was a good point – such a good point that given a few more minutes the journal was safely tucked away in his desk, and she was quietly making her way out of his office and out of Hogwarts itself, her high heels clacking on the stone floors. She had promised more information, and he had politely not inquired as to how she was going to obtain it, because he already suspected the answer but preferred to sleep at night – and to make sure all of the plans were going well.


	2. Chapter 2

"Severine? Severine Snape? Of course I remember her. I mean, who could forget, right? I used to set her pigtails on fire during charms all the time."

Sirius Black laid on his bed, bouncing a rubber ball up to the ceiling and catching it as it ricocheted back down. The muggle apartment was small, but it would do; best of all it was charmed so that even if they were looking for him, they wouldn't find him. He wanted to be out, but then again, he always did – but he was the Secret Keeper, so that required a certain amount of tact. Plans had abruptly changed, and for such chaos, they now seemed to be settling down into normal routine again, even if Sirius was eternally suspicious things were being kept from him.

With a frustrated sigh, Remus – well, his head, poking out from the green magical flames in the fireplace – glared at him. "Honestly, Sirius, this is important – Dumbledore's asked for everyone to gather for something, and –"

"This doesn't have something to do with that raid that was yesterday, was it?" Bounce, thwack, catch – Sirius didn't look up, even if he was shaking little bits of dust from the ceiling. "Finally got my hands on a paper – things are going much better, aren't they, I mean, Ravenwood castle gone, and didn't Dumbledore say something about being nearly ready to take Little Hangleton – "

Remus gave another frustrated sigh, gesturing to Sirius threateningly with a tattered-looking old boot. "I don't know what it's about, Sirius, I just know you have to come. Well, I don't know what it's entirely about, but James and Lily are here, and this portkey's set for five minutes from now, so if you don't –"

"Severine, right? Don't see what the hell she has to do with anything. I bet they're probably questioning her for something. Bitch. It figures. Fine, fine, I'm coming." He rolled off the bed, sticking the bouncy ball in his pocket.

Exactly five minutes later, Sirius woozily appeared, stumbling a bit, holding on to the portkey. He blinked and looked around a bit, but James roaringly calling out "Padfoot! You did make it!" was enough to let him now he was in the right place. Laughing, he went over to join the throng – Remus rolling his eyes a bit, James clasping him in a hug, even Lily pausing to hug him with her free arm before fussing at them all, gesturing to the sleeping toddler curled up against her chest. "Sssh! – You'll wake him – now come sit."

"Yee-ees, Muh-therr," Sirius said mockingly, rolling his eyes a bit as he plopped down in one of the chairs, giving Lily a large jackal's grin.

"Oh, hush! I make one tuna casserole, and I never hear the end of it – besides, be quiet, you'll wake him!"

"It's fine, Lily, I'm sure Harry would be happy to see his Godfather, right?" James grinned, reaching over to ruffle the sleeping boy's hair; the child snorted a bit in his sleep, blowing spit-bubbles.

Sirius settled down, leaning back a bit, sprawling in his chair. "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

Remus gave a tired sigh and shrug. "Somewhere in Saint Mungo's, I think. Dumbledore's in charge of it all – some sort of private room, I gather –"

"It's safe, right?" Sirius interrupted, peering suspiciously around the bright white room.

"Of course. Nobody knows this place even exists except for us and Dumbledore, that's why I had to come give you that special portkey."

Sirius visibly relaxed, and James smiled with a little shrug, as if he had already known this. Lily was busy bouncing baby Harry up and down in an arm a bit to keep him asleep and quiet, cooing at him. Silence sat heavily on the room for awhile; in the distance there was the vague chatter of the doctors and healers, maybe a voice that might have been Dumbledore's, it was hard to tell.

"So," said Sirius after a moment, looking over to Lily and James, "Halloween went well?" The question had a distinct edge to it.

"Mmn-hmn. We were fine. Information was good, though, apparently the Order and a small task force of other Aurors were waiting for him when he came." James spoke calmly, although it was a forced and unnatural calm – a layer of ice over a dangerously fast-flowing river.

"We were fine," Lily interrupted, stressing her words a bit. "That's what matters in the end after all. Besides, I got enough spare time in-between it all to make Harry the cutest little costume."

"Oh? What'd he go as?" Everyone seemed particularly glad of the change of topic – save for Sirius, who frowned momentarily in annoyance before sighing a bit and rolling with the conversation.

"I hope you took pictures for his Godfather! I don't even have anything proper to put in my wallet yet, how pathetic is that –"

"I haven't even told you what his costume was yet!" Lily was laughing; Harry awoke with a pleasantly amused expression on his face, yawning.

"Well, tell us!" Remus reached over to poke her on the shoulder, grinning, before becoming thoroughly distracted by seeing Harry awake, waving exaggeratedly with a wide smile on his face as to make the toddler giggle and grin back.

"I made him a little deer costume! – to match his Daddy – it's so cute, you've got to see it, the plush antlers were so hard to sew but it's adorable, I'll have him wear it for you at Christmas – no, Guy Fawkes' Day, that's sooner –" Lily gushed happily.

Remus laughed. "I don't mind any excuse to visit."

"As long as you don't fix tuna casserole!" Sirius made a face; baby Harry looked over to see and gave a louder squealey laugh which set them all to laughing. It was good to be together again, simply joking, ignoring the fact that beyond the confines of the room there was a war going on; it was good to plan more times together without anyone bringing up the fact of security; it was good to be together and not to mention the one person among them who was missing and would be missing forevermore.

Suddenly, there was the sound of the door shutting – they all looked up, and baby Harry gave a delighted little squeal, waving clumsily at Dumbledore. Momentarily, the old man's expression changed from grim to smile back at the child as he checked the door was thoroughly shut. And then he walked over to talk, and he told them about Severine.


	3. Chapter 3

She could tell exactly when it had started.

Ever since the severity of her last fight with Lily Potter made the rounds of Hogwarts, a certain gaggle seemed to decide she was a charity case that needed to be taken in, even more than usual. So the Black sisters (or the two she would associate with, anyway) deemed themselves overseers for her recreation, especially Narcissa. It was Narcissa that had pulled strings and talked her into going to that ball in seventh year (not that it was much of a competition - the glory and glitter of the ballroom compared to strangled squalor of home). It was Narcissa who picked out the dress. It was Narcissa who taught her how to walk in heels and give up her tomboy ways; it was Narcissa who had told her what she'd always known of her ugliness and given her the makeup and the charms to fix her unseemliness; it was Narcissa who gave her the lesson that being pretty and thin was always more important than not being hungry or being without the taste of bile on her tongue as she exited the bathroom after extravagant meals. Certainly, she had been aware of what was expected for her before, but with Narcissa it was all black and white, blunt and stark.

So that night she felt indebted to the Black sisters, and naturally sat with them, an ugly duckling in-between two cultivated swans. She watched them dance, and was pointedly not invited to dance with others. Their kindness came with a price, and that was the knowledge that she was, and could always only be, a pretender. The taste and glimpse was enough to keep her coming back, the idea of a power so potent half within her...

"Him, Severine, that's who I want you to meet," Narcissa said giddily, grabbing her sleeve and pointing. Bellatrix spotted him before Severine herself did, giving a long, almost moaning, sigh. She remembered that she had to frown and squint before seeing him.

Of course it was a charmed countenance, but it was so well done nobody cared, herself included. The classic beauty was so nicely put together that it seemed as if a fine Greek statue had come to life and was milling about the room. Everyone seemed to be fawning over him, giving him all the attention he wanted and more. Every smile, every twitch of his well-groomed eyebrows seemed to drip with power. Between the alabaster skin and the jet black hair pulled back neatly, he seemed to be the very picture of not just nobility, but of everything Pureblood.

And then he was gone in the crowd, and Bellatrix gave an unhappy groan, and they went back to their drinks. Narcissa systematically dodged any questions as to the man's name, profession, or age, saying nothing except that Severine should meet him - and, tantalizingly, that he wished to meet Severine. Narcissa also wisely advised her to nurse her drink instead of worry, because worrying was unbecoming and unladylike. And so she tried to push it out of her mind until later that evening. The only warning she got was the excited half-gasp Bellatrix gave as she noticed who was behind her, and then she turned -

He was there, beautiful, poised, smiling, extending one hand out to her. He said he was there to request the honor of a dance. She replied that Miss Black's dance card was full (both Miss Blacks, in fact). He was asking for her. Her embarrassment was almost as much as her astonishment.

Much to her chagrin, she could never remember the conversation. It was lost in the muffled sound of her quickly beating heart thumping in her ears and in apologies for her clumsy feet finding his toes again and again. But it was something about him, and about the way he spoke, that made her believe when he told her that she was beautiful and talented, a something that silenced her inner critic.

It was a very dangerous drug that quickly became an addiction.

They continued talking after the waltz. He drew her out into the rose garden to tell her what he said was an important secret, and to ask her for her loyalty. It was more than enough to see the flash of blood red in his eyes and to hear him speak his name. Voldemort.

For two Slytherins, there is no greater lust than the lust for power. That was the first night she recognized the power in him, and he noticed the utility of having her. He expected and demanded it to seal the agreement, so he took her for the first time on the cold marble bench.

And now...

Now, she knew, it was ending; she had ended it long ago but she was still not out of his grip. Staring into the darkness, she didn't think that the bed at St. Mungo's was all much more comfortable than the marble bench where it had began. She had been staring into the blank darkness, waiting for the sensation that the black was crushing her to go away, but all she could take were short gasps and it was a struggle to keep her eyes open.

"You're being so stupid, Severine." She had meant to whisper to herself, a noise against the darkness as if it could act as a lamp in breaking the smothering sensation, but it was more mouthing the words in breathlessness. "The darkness cannot hurt you. It cannot." She gulped as if to clear the dryness from her mouth; it didn't work.

The pain was something that was impossible to ignore, so she didn't try. Instead she was silently glad for the mental fortitude she had, or thought she had, derived from occulmency. Her bruised fingertips hit the edge of the spartan nightstand and she found the knob for the lamp; the magical light spluttered on and chased away the darkness. It was not enough, but she could slowly breathe now, enough to barely exist, and to realize what had to be done.

She had to get out of here.


	4. Chapter 4

"Gone," Dumbledore repeated, almost hollowly.

The doctor nervously shifted from foot to foot, tugging at his crisp white official St. Mungo's robes. "...Yes."

There was a rush to answer him the second time, but Lily's voice, shrill and unyielding, pushed down all the others. "Gone? _Gone?_ How can she be gone!? You said she was under the highest security, and -"

He flung his hands as if to cover his head; baby Harry snuffled and started to whimper. "It was security for being attacked from the outside, not inside! She knocked out the nurse that was supposed to be watching over her, and managed to get back her wand - there was a window open, but they all go out to the first story, you know, since you said to put special precautionary measures in -"

Dumbledore seemed to be the only one who didn't look in some way angered or worried. He merely held up a hand. "Did she take the bag I left with her personal possessions?"

The doctor paused a moment before frowning. "She... took some of it, I think. Not the entire thing."

"I see." Fortunately Dumbledore's calm seemed to spread around the others, especially to Lily. He gave a small sigh. "Very well, then."

"You... meant for her to take the bag, sir?"

"Of course."

The doctor bit his lip a moment, but Sirius asked the question somewhat demandingly. "So you left it for her to take? If you knew she was going to go, why did you -"

"Knew? Certainly not. Hoped she would choose more wisely, but made sure she would go prepared nonetheless? Yes." Dumbledore just barely smiled. "In a week's time, we'll easily have all that we need to track her."

The doctor gulped audibly, raising his hand as if this were a classroom before speaking. "Sir, she... she doesn't have a _week_. She has three days, maybe, if all the healing magic nicely affixed itself."

"Three days?"

"Yes, sir. Three."

--

She had her boots. Her boots were very important, because they were her favourite, even if now they had blood spattered on them. The nurse's change of clothes made acceptably muggle fashion, she thought, even if things didn't fit quite right. The trenchcoat was something she could hide herself in well enough.

The misconception that after the first few steps, things would get easier, still haunted her. Things did not get easier. The pain grew worse, and now her fingers trembled so hard she could barely turn the pages of the phone book. But it was a pleasant distraction from being surrounded by muggle things in a muggle world, the stench of the Thames and the rain-slicked concrete making her nauseated. She would realize later that it was a bad idea, that the setting had made her intoxicated into foolish ideas, but it was so early in the morning and the shadows seemed to be closing in on her at every turn.

She fumbled to find the right page and the right name before finding the right coin and feeding it to the public telephone. Slowly punching in the number, she leaned against the side of the telephone box for support, focusing on trying to breathe as she listened to the ringing.

"Hello? Hello?" She had to pause to gasp and force her voice to be as normal as possible. "Yes, I know what time it is. Don't hang up, don't hang up, all right? Yes, I know Father's sleeping, I'll be quick. Listen - listen - all right, go to the kitchen phone. But don't hang up." She bit her lip, took in a large breath and sighed it out. "No - no, just try... listen, Mother, just listen." She stopped herself as her tone became snappish before relaxing into letting her voice shake.

"I just need to come home for a few days. Just a very few days, all right? I promise, I won't - yes, I know Father told me not to come home, but - _listen_, Mother, something's happened, something bad, and I need..."

It was then that she stopped talking, because she knew what the flustered protests gone to flat buzzing meant. Slowly, she pulled away the phone receiver from her head and stared at it blankly. Waste of perfectly good money.

But she could pretend that it bought her the right to sit in the phone booth until she felt it was light enough outside to walk safely.


End file.
